Dreams
by ashleyjskywalker
Summary: "I believe you could not be fully erased because the people who care about you could not let you go... I believe you call it love." Early season four, Olivia clings to Peter without realizing it.
1. Chapter 1

Emotions are funny things. Sometimes you wonder if there's something wrong with yours.

You can remember the day the feeling began- an emptiness inside of you, as if you had forgotten about something essential or misplaced something of great value. You tried to dismiss it, writing if off as something akin to deja vu, something your imagination created, a product of your mind's reaction to your line of work. It'll be forgotten, in time... you'll adjust.

But you don't, and the emptiness doesn't go away. The hole becomes part of who, what you are; drives you to become better, stronger, because no matter what you do, and how well you do it, it always feels like something is fundamentally _wrong. _As if some missing piece of the bigger picture is hovering just out of your view, and try as you might you can't seem to grasp it. And gradually, that feeling continues to grow.

In an effort to keep the emptiness from consuming you, you construct walls around your heart, hiding behind the front of being the tough FBI agent, that false exterior providing you some semblance of protection from the world around you, if not from what hides within yourself. You think that maybe you're beginning to cope with it, to heal from whatever mystery has caused you to feel as if you're missing part of yourself.

And then the dreams start.

They're fuzzy, the first few nights, though you're aware that you're never alone in them, there's always someone- the same someone- with you, and he makes you feel safe. And slowly, the clarity increases, and your dreams coalesce into something more.

It bothers you a bit, that you can see him so clearly in your dreams and then be so hard pressed to remember the details of his face when you wake up, to be aware of the fact that you carried on an entire conversation only to forget every word. It bothers you that you, who remembers every detail of every case, can't seem to recall even one tidbit of your own dreams.

That changes, one morning, when you wake to realize that the image of his face is still burned into your retinas, the whisper of his voice echoing in your ears.

_Remember me._

Your hand works furiously, pencil flying over the piece of paper as you struggle to transfer the memory onto a more permanent medium before it fades and you forget again. You don't _want_ to forget again. Something about this man feels important, feels as if you should know who he is. Because for those short periods that you're dreaming and he's with you, you feel whole.

The sketch gets folded up and tucked into your jacket pocket, where it goes everywhere that you do, and occasionally you pull it out when no one's looking, when you're having a vulnerable moment and you need something from which to draw strength. It's silly, you think, that a drawing of a man you've only dreamed of can ground you the way it does, and you tell yourself over and over again that you'll only look at it one more time, but there's always another time after that.

_Remember me._

You want to remember, so badly. You want to know who he is, what he was to you, what you were to him. Why he calms you, how he soothes the hole in your heart that you had thought was just an integral part of who you are.

But the dreams continue, and you start to wonder if you're losing your grip on your sanity.

When the FBI gets a report of a man that just _appeared_ in the middle of Reiden Lake, one who seems to know more than he has any right to about Fringe division and your cases, your curiosity is piqued. Your first guess is that it's someone from the other side, since Fringe division isn't exactly a secret over there, though you're not sure how anyone could have gotten across the bridge without security clearance. You lose yourself in your thoughts on the matter during the drive to the hospital, trying to line up the possibilities in your mind.

You were not prepared for this.

"_Olivia... Thank God you're here."_

It's him.

You suddenly find yourself unable to breathe as you take him in- the way his eyes have lit up, the apparent relief etched across his face, the way his gaze travels over you as if he hasn't seen you in years. A thousand questions stampede through your thoughts- how does he know you, why are you so familiar with his body language, _why_ has he been in your dreams- but your overloaded brain can only transmit one of them to your mouth.

"_Who are you?"_

When he is safely in a holding room back at the FBI offices, you allow yourself to stand on the other side of the glass and look in on him, every second driving home the fact that this is the man that you've been dreaming of for weeks. At least now you have a name to put to the face- Peter. And as much as you're trying not to admit it to yourself, the hole inside of you has begun to heal.

* * *

I miiiiiiiiight be planning a second part to this one. Shocking, I know, since all I've been able to get out so far are oneshots.


	2. Chapter 2

Well... seems everyone wanted a part two and my brain wanted to be accommodating. To the point where I should've been asleep a couple hours ago and I was writing this instead, lol.

I just wanna throw a quick thank you out there to those of who have been reading all of these... I appreciate it. :)

* * *

You'd thought that with Peter in corporeal form, safely tucked away in the holding room at the office, that he'd cease to frequent your dreams.

You were wrong.

It's difficult, sometimes, trying to reconcile what you're dreaming with what is actually happening, trying not to blush as you catch him gazing at you as if he's afraid you'll disappear while all you can think about is what your mind conjured up about him the night before. Especially considering that your dreams have been taking a more... sensual turn.

It doesn't help that you've found yourself wanting to spend more time with him for reasons you can't define. He speaks of this world- timeline?- that only he remembers, and yet you find yourself wishing that you could too, because if your dreams are any indication, the relationship that he claims you had is everything you've been missing in your life. It scares you though, the thought of trusting this man than you met in your dreams, letting him inside the walls you've so carefully constructed around your heart, because you've lived so many years with heartbreak without ever really knowing what it was, and you don't think you can go back to that if you find that he's lying to you.

The dream you have the night before Westfield is your turning point. Because it doesn't feel like a dream, it doesn't have that ethereal feel that even your most lucid dreams concerning him always have. This one is clarity, certainty, your heart racing when he whispers _I love you_ to you when you ask him to. And when you wake with a start to your phone vibrating, you swear you can still feel his lips on yours, his hand tracing down your spine. No... this feels like a _memory_, and it both thrills and terrifies you at the same time.

Westfield... well. Westfield changes everything.

After you get over those few moments of feeling as if there's a second person in your head, you don't have much time to take a mental inventory, too caught up in the frantic rush of just getting out. And later that night, you don't think twice about it when you pick up the phone and your fingers dial the number to Damiano's that you shouldn't know, or question the easy smile you give Peter as you slip a hand to the nape of his neck and kiss him. At least not until he pulls back and you see the look on his face.

It brings you crashing back to reality- is this reality? You're not completely sure anymore- and suddenly you can feel two lives, two completely different sets of memories in your head, vying for your attention. And suddenly you _know _that the man sitting across from you, concern written across his face, is what you've been missing your entire life, know beyond the shadow of a doubt that he's the only one who can fill the void in your heart.

Call it reckless. Call it irresponsible. But you can't let that feeling of being _complete_ go. And when he kisses you, sitting in front of the gas station, you know that fighting these memories that are taking you over will be a battle you won't win, because you don't want to. So you stop fighting.

Which just makes it hurt that much more, even through those brief few days, when he pushes you away again, the fear in his eyes telling you that he's terrified of betraying you again. Because you remember that now, too, being trapped on the other side while _she_ was here with him, and how long it took you to reconcile your feelings for him again.

Odd, how you're the only one who _remembers_, that Westfield didn't affect Walter the same way it affected you. They all try not to look worried when you talk about what you remember now, cases from a life dead and gone. They try to hide their concern when you realize you've forgotten details about _this _life that would've been important to you. But it's as if the world around you has been muted as the hole in your chest that had almost closed rips itself open again, and you're left with nothing. Except this time, instead of unaware lack of something, it's a gaping void, because you _know_ what you're missing.

You feel as if you're living in a fog, even through your next case, because you can't believe that this is happening to you, that you can remember every detail and Peter still won't so much as look at you, won't believe that you're _his._ So when you get home that night, feeling desolate and lost and wondering if you made the right choice by telling Walter that these were the memories you were going to keep, you're more than a little surprised to see Peter standing on the stairs to your apartment building, waiting for you.

Your pulse quickens at the look on his face- that look that was always just for you, the way he smiles more with his eyes than with his mouth. And suddenly you know, and you're flying across the pavement to meet him halfway, and he's gathering you into his arms and literally sweeping you off of your feet, his lips pressed to yours.

You realize later that night that the gaping hole in your chest that has served as your heart for the past several years is gone, filled in by this love. Because he is _yours_, as completely and fully as you are _his. _And as you sit on the couch, tucked underneath his arm and up against his chest, you wonder how you could have possibly made it through these last few years without him next to you. It seems like a bad dream.

And, you suppose, now that's all it is.


End file.
